


The Trials and Tribulations of S.J. Gautier

by ellipsometry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Creampie, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, friends to idiots to lovers, general sluttery, they play sex chicken, they're frat bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: “Hold on, you’re changing the subject.  Are you saying,” Sylvain arches an eyebrow.  “That you’re worried we’ll fuck so much it’ll hurt your grades?”“I—” Dimitri clears his throat.  “I might be saying that.”It's finals week. Sylvain hatches a plan to get Dimitri to fuck him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 496





	The Trials and Tribulations of S.J. Gautier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amaanogawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaanogawa/gifts).



> a bday present for emily!!!! <3  
> find me on twitt [@ellipsometry](http://twitter.com/ellipsometry_)

Sylvain returns to Garreg Mach University after a gap year (or two) pissing away his parents’ money in Europe to find he’s acquired a few new problems:

  1. Dimitri got hot.  
  

  2. It’s not that Dimitri _wasn’t_ hot before – he was always handsome, clean-cut, popular. Sylvain can remember in high school how many girls asked Dimitri out to the prom, only to be politely declined. _I don’t want to make anyone feel bad_ , Dimitri had said, in his way. Eventually Sylvain took pity on the poor bastard and claimed him as his date. They shared one surprisingly not awkward slow dance, and Sylvain burst through his phone storage taking pictures of Dimitri being crowned Prom King. There had been—well, _one_ strange moment, Sylvain dropping Dimitri off at home, when Dimitri leaned over the center console and gave Sylvain’s face a curious once-over, fixating a bit too long on his lips, parted in surprise.



_Wait._ What was he saying?

  1. Dimitri is different now; a little rougher, more muscular, massive and glowering. Sylvain had heard about the accident with his eye, of course, but it’s strangely—well, sexy (???) when he sees Dimitri wearing his eyepatch, his messy blond hair tied back into a half ponytail.  
  

  2. Dimitri got hot and kissing him feels like climbing into a pot of boiling water. Sylvain feels burnt all over, scalded by it, pulled under by Dimitri’s enthusiasm, drowning in it happily. 



So, maybe there isn’t a problem at all.

“You’re late,” Dimitri mutters when Sylvain nudges the door to Dimitri’s bedroom open with his foot. He’s got a tray of snacks and drinks in hand, purportedly to keep them fueled for a study session. But _studying_ with Dimitri is turning more and more often into _sex_ with Dimitri. And Dimitri’s stamina has made itself known well enough that Sylvain knows he’ll need some recovery snacks.

“Got caught by Dedue,” Sylvain pushes the door closed behind him. “He told me not to keep you up so late.”

“Ah, well,” Dimitri flushes pink. “I was kidding, in any case. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

Oh – there it is.

  1. Dimitri got hot and maybe a little moody but he’s still so very _Dimitri_. And Sylvain isn’t quite sure how to feel about how he feels every time Dimitri smiles at him, unbidden and bright. Or says something storybook-sweet, or grabs Sylvain’s hand after fucking him silly into the mattress, kissing his palm so soft.



Tonight, at least, Dimitri seems intent on actually studying. He’s had trouble focusing since the accident, but he’s as sharp as Sylvain remembers. They breeze through his microeconomics worksheets and start on outline for Sylvain’s global politics essay, and it’s only when Dimitri pulls out his ungodly large biochemistry textbook that Sylvain resorts to sliding a hand under the table and up Dimitri’s thigh.

“How about—” Sylvain starts, at the same moment that Dimitri says, “Sylvain, we can’t.”

Sylvain swallows, snatching his hand back. _Oh. Fuck, okay._ This is what he gets for pushing things so far with a friend, with someone he’s known for so long, one of the few people who actually knows him and still manages to like him—

“Sylvain,” Dimitri repeats, maybe sensing the wheels turning in Sylvain’s skull. “It’s not—You know I would love to, ah. You know.”

“Fuck.”

It’s always fun to watch Dimitri’s blush spread up his neck, peek out from the collar of his shirt. “Yes, except… finals are soon, and I don’t want to lose focus—or accidentally hurt your grades as well by pulling you away from your studies.”

“My studies,” Sylvain deadpans. “You are so nice to think I will study at all.”

“You’ve been studying with me,” Dimitri frowns. “When you apply yourself, you’re truly outstanding.”

He says these things so easily. And, worse yet, he really means it. “Hold on, you’re changing the subject. Are you saying,” Sylvain arches an eyebrow. “That you’re worried we’ll fuck so much it’ll hurt your grades?”

“I—” Dimitri clears his throat. “I might be saying that.”

The instinct to tease Dimitri is strong, but Sylvain thinks… he might actually have a point. They study, sure, but more often than not their nights are spent sweating in Dimitri’s sheets, Sylvain’s hand clamped firmly over his mouth in a vain effort to not wake up the rest of their housemates. Felix had always said Sylvain was the insatiable one, but he has nothing on Dimitri – his stamina alone can keep them going three or four rounds, with Sylvain leaving Dimitri’s room the next morning looking like he’s just been mauled by a small mountain lion. And, night after night after night, Sylvain is still hungry for more.

Dimitri is the only person he’s hooked up with since coming home. Realistically, Sylvain could always find someone else on campus to fill his cravings, to occupy his time.

Except—and Sylvain realizes this for the first time at that exact moment, looking at Dimitri’s puppy dog eye (singular) watching him mournfully—

  1. Sylvain doesn’t want anyone else. He wants Dimitri. And that’s _definitely_ a problem.



A plan clicks together in Sylvain’s mind. “Okay. No problem.”

Dimitri visibly exhales. “Thank you, Sylvain. I promise I will make it up to you once the semester is over.”

“You will,” Sylvain’s mouth curls into a smile. “I’ll make sure of it.”

+  
  


They start calling Dimitri _Your Highness_ after he’s elected fraternity president. He kind of hates it, but Sylvain could never hate the way Dimitri goes pink at the tips of his ears every time Sylvain whispers it to him in bed. And now, in the kitchen, sidling up behind Dimitri as he overcooks some bacon.

“Morning, Your Highness.”

“Sylvain, good morning!” Dimitri expertly dodges the kiss Sylvain tries to leave on his temple.

“No morning kiss?”

Dimitri wields his greasy spatula like an ancient weapon. “I’m sorry, Sylvain. I am not confident I can control myself around you.”

Sylvain whines, reaching for Dimitri’s waist—he gets swatted away with the spatula like the pest he is. “Baby, you can’t say that and not expect me to be horny about it.”

“Keep it in your fucking pants or I’ll cut it off.”

“Ah, Felix. Good morning!”

Felix just rolls his eyes and slams the fridge shut with a bit more effort than necessary. Sylvain almost feels a bit bad for how he’s about to terrorize not just Dimitri, but their entire frat house. 

(Well, it’s not like most of them haven’t seen Sylvain naked before.)

Sylvain starts with inviting Dimitri for a run around the neighborhood. Dimitri shows up in his usual workout gear—Sylvain, on the other hand, is wearing skin-tight yoga pants and a mesh crop top. None of his friends are strangers to the more, well, _provocative_ outfits in Sylvain’s closet, collected over the years from Eurobeat raves and Greek life spirit days. Dimitri does a remarkable job of hiding his surprise as he rounds the corner to meet Sylvain in the foyer. But he can’t hide the hunger in that one wide, blue eye, zeroing in first on the low rise of Sylvain’s pants, the trail of soft red hair, moving up to fixate on the glint of silver visible through the gaps in the mesh.

(Some girl in Budapest had pierced Sylvain’s nipples for him. An impulse decision, sure, but it felt good to do something his parents would surely hate. And then there was the way Dimitri likes to run his thumbs over them carefully, pulling the metal into his mouth and sucking carefully, teasing him until Sylvain is—)

“Sylvain.”

“Oh, yeah, you ready?” Sylvain blinks, trying to remember his planned choreography. He cocks a hip, thumbing the hem of his pants. “You ready?” _Wait_ , didn’t he already ask that? This entire thing is already going off the rails.

Dimitri opens his mouth, closes it. Finally, opens it again. “Yes. I’m thinking five miles today, is that okay for you?”

That fucking bastard. “Y-Yeah. Of course.”

In this way, Sylvain’s first foray into goading Dimitri into fucking him does not go well. He limps back to his bedroom and ices his sore nipples, scraped up from the rub of the mesh. Dimitri, on the other hand, is fresh and glowing as he usually is after a good workout. _I’m sorry for pushing you so hard_ , Dimitri says, but he looks like he’s biting back a pleased smile.

Never mind, Sylvain thinks. There’s more where that came from.

In the morning, Sylvain decides to go topless, sweatpants hung low on his hips, the thick elastic of his jockstrap peeking out. His nipples are still swollen, so he pastes a band-aid over each one, the bump of his barbells obvious through the thin bandage.

“Morning!” He greets sunnily, strolling into the kitchen. A visiting Ingrid groans so loudly her ancestors probably hear it. But Dimitri twitches so hard in surprise he sends his bowl of cereal tumbling off the table into his lap.

“Ah, now you’re all wet,” Sylvain simpers, snatching a towel and pressing it to Dimitri’s milk-soaked lap. _Jackpot_ – he’s at least half-hard.

“N-No need for that, Sylvain,” Dimitri shoots up, eye darting around the room desperately for anything else to focus on. He decides on babbling something about going out to buy more milk, and runs for the door.

“I hate you,” Ingrid says around a bite of her omelet.

The temperate spring weather is quickly breaking bad, and with it, Sylvain gains an excuse to wear less and less clothing around the house. No shirt, just boxers – maybe with a tank top, sides cut down so his pecs peek out when he leans over where Dimitri is lounging on the couch to grab something. They continue their study sessions, because Dimitri is nothing if not valiant, and Sylvain borrows a new crop top from Dorothea for each night. Dimitri never breaks, but Sylvain thinks the hot pink shirt with _Baby_ written in rhinestones might have almost gotten him.

Dimitri starts spending less time in the communal living spaces – if it’s because he’s retreated to his room to study or to avoid Sylvain is hard to tell. So, Sylvain stakes out his usual spot in the kitchen after a run, sweat running across his chest, shorts clinging to his muscled thighs. Even Dimitri has to eat sometime.

“Hey, Your Highness. Long time no see.”

Dimitri’s shoulders jump when he sees Sylvain, sitting on the counter, legs swinging, bright red popsicle held to his lips. “I just saw you this morning,” he says, swallowing hard.

Sylvain shrugs, “I missed you anyway.” And, to drive his point home in the most obvious way possible, licks a stripe up the popsicle, letting the juice drip across his lips, falling down to hit his lap, his chest, dripping off the jut of his nipple.

“That’s kind of you,” Dimitri grits out, attempting to make lunch without looking at Sylvain every two seconds. He’s doing a pretty good job, aside from the fact that he squeezes the mustard hard enough to drown half his sandwich. That’s probably fine.

“Dimitri….” Sylvain whines, leaning over like he’s sprawled on top of a grand piano, and not the kitchen counter of a shitty frat house. “I’m hungry, too.” And, in another move of flawless subtlety, he deepthroats what’s left of his popsicle, eyes fluttering shut as he gags.

When he opens his eyes, Dimitri is fisting a can of La Croix hard enough to dimple the aluminum. But he’s holding strong, moving robotically toward the living room, looking back just once at Sylvain with an unreadable expression.

(He makes it halfway up the stairs before the La Croix explodes in his hand.)

+

If Sylvain’s meticulous record-keeping is anything to go by – and it is – Dimitri has managed to escape his overt propositions at least a dozen times, now. 

But his coping mechanisms are starting to get stranger: Like when Sylvain makes a big display of showing off his new nipple rings, and Dimitri excuses himself to the kitchen to crush an apple with his bare hand. Or when Sylvain waters the flowerbeds and gets himself more wet than the poor begonias, and Dimitri calmly twists the water spout to turn if off, but ends up bending the handle off completely.

Or when—

“What’s that idiot doing now?”

“Dunno,” Sylvain says, even though the answer is obvious, if not extremely inscrutable. Dimitri is chopping wood. Where he got wood to chop is anyone’s guess, as is what he’s going to do with it. It’s the middle of summer. Their house doesn’t have a fireplace.

Felix takes a bite of his power bar, raising one dubious eye at Sylvain, who’s watching Dimitri carefully from the deck. Felix knows Sylvain too well – well enough to be rightfully suspicious. “What’d you do to him now?”

Sylvain scoffs, but doesn’t meet Felix’s eyes. “Nothing! Of course!”

And, really, Sylvain hadn’t done much of anything. Some sunbathing and morning yoga in the yard, was that such a crime? He was just trying to test out the new poses Mercedes showed him, and so what if he had gone shirtless while doing it? Dimitri should really be used to it by now – but his eye still follows the sweat that gathers on Sylvain’s chest, dripping down his clavicle, making him shine almost obscenely in the summer sun.

And it _definitely_ wasn’t Sylvain’s fault if his loose running shorts had ridden up, maybe gotten caught between his thighs as he went into downward dog, showing off that pale, freckled skin, the curve of his ass, the obvious outline of his soft cock, maybe even a flash of his balls before Sylvain could preserve his modesty.

(He’d have a hell of a rash later for foregoing underwear. But the black hole gravitational pull in Dimitri’s eye was more than worth it.)

“Where’d he even get an axe?”

Sylvain twirls the pen in his hand. “Annie has one for some reason.” There’s a sickening _thud!_ and both boys look out to see Dimitri’s overly-aggressive swing has split the handle from the head. “Well, _had_ one.”

“For the love of—” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “Will you two go back to fucking and stop terrorizing us all.”

“Hey, I’m not the one to admonish here,” Sylvain says, watching as Dimitri distresses over the broken axe. He’ll probably immediately go buy the most expensive axe he can find online to replace Annette’s. “Dimitri is the one who took a fucking finals week celibacy pledge!”

“Whatever,” Felix knocks Sylvain’s pen out of his hand. Just for the sake of it. “You’re insatiable. Go fuck someone else, then.”

Sylvain finally turns to Felix, batting his lashes. “Why, are you offering, Fe?”

He’s expecting a good knock on his skull, but Felix’s hands stay (blessedly) still. Instead, he gives Sylvain a pitying look. “I know it’s, like, antithetical to everything we’ve ever been taught,” he says, taking another bite of his power bar. “But maybe, you know. You could _talk_ to him about it.”

And, for once, Sylvain is a little speechless. Speechless at the advice and that it’s _Felix_ of all people giving it to him. But maybe he could actually tell Dimitri that he misses him; misses falling asleep next to him after a long night tangled up together; misses waking up to Dimitri getting ready for a run at the ass crack of dawn, leaning down to kiss a sleeping Sylvain’s forehead, tucking the blankets around him. Maybe Felix has a point.

And, as usual, Sylvain talks himself out of that plan with swiftness.

 _Stupid._ Who actually talks about their feelings like that?

+

It’s getting desperate. Dimitri possesses, apparently, an indomitable will. Sylvain suspects both of them are taking a lot more cold showers than usual.

Sylvain could always jerk off. He tells himself this, and even plays with himself a few times, fingers dancing across his nipples or stroking his cock in his sweatpants. But then he’ll think about Dimitri – the way his fingers stretch him out so well, the heat of his tongue as he swallows Sylvain down, the expert way he nails Sylvain to the mattress like it’s what he was made to do – and, suddenly, his own hands and fingers seem woefully inadequate.

It’s past midnight when Sylvain gets his newest, most brilliant idea yet.

There’s a hash brownie or two left over in the kitchen from the last time Mercedes visited, so Sylvain eats half of one and sprawls out on the couch in the empty living room. It’s a Friday night, meaning most of the house will be out getting monstrously smashed with the Annette, Mercedes, and the rest of the sorority girls next door. And it means that Dimitri will be getting home soon from his job as a Campus Escort ( _Not the sex kind,_ Dimitri patiently explains to Sylvain.)

Sylvain settles in and lets his brain go blessedly fuzzy.

It’s easier to touch himself like this, feather-light, pulling his sweatshirt up until his nipples are exposed and pebbling in the cold air. He rolls them between his fingers, tugs on the silver rings he’s wearing today, and bites down a whine. Dimitri is so much better at this, his fingers calloused and careful. He always touches Sylvain like he’s made of glass, like he’s something precious – maybe that’s why Sylvain feels craving coil in his gut. He doesn’t just want Dimitri; he wants _all_ of him; wants to be manhandled and roughed up like he knows Dimitri’s more than capable of. He wants to peel back that practiced air of performance and give himself over completely.

“Dima…” Sylvain breathes out, letting his free hand dip under his waistband, cock already half-hard when he strokes it, thumbs at the wetness gathering at the tip, using to ease the slide of his hand. It’s been so long since he edged himself like this, let his arousal come on slowly. By the time Sylvain is fully hard, he feels like he’s floating, brain full of cotton, so occupied with every minute touch against his feverish skin that he doesn’t hear the door unlock, or see the shadow of a familiar figure looming over him, or feel the heat of a blue flame eye watching him.

At least not until Dimitri conspicuously clears his throat.

“Oh, hey buddy,” Sylvain opens his eyes, cocks his head back over the arm of the sofa. Upside down like this, it looks like Dimitri’s smiling. Sylvain holds back a small giggle and tightens his hand around the base of his cock. “You’re home early.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri’s voice is low and dangerous. Sylvain expects a lecture about _defiling the shared living space_ or _doing this where anyone can walk in_. But what Dimitri says instead, hand curling and uncurling by his side is, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“What I’m—” Sylvain blinks, dick twitching under the heat of his palm and the raw rumble of Dimitri’s voice.

But then he’s gone, stalking up the stairs wordlessly. Sylvain’s hand is already flying over his cock, twisting mean at the head of his dick, squeezing hard enough to hurt. He comes a few seconds later, dripping sad and unsatisfying into his palm, biting down at his sweatshirt to keep quiet. 

And, before Sylvain has the wherewithal to tuck himself back into his pants, he hears the lock to Dimitri’s door click.

+

The fraternity president is supposed to have a semi-private room – the attic, actually, which is twice the size of any of the other rooms and boasts a great view of the backyard. Dimitri, benevolent monarch that he is, bequeaths the attic room to Dedue, so he will have room for his indoor plants. _I have a black thumb, unfortunately_ , Dimitri tells Sylvain one night. _It feels like I ruin everything I get my hands on._

Sylvain understands the feeling.

What all this means, in any case, is that Dimitri’s room is on the second floor, right next to Sylvain’s. And it takes Sylvain a bit too long to realize the great opportunity this provides. 

He waits until he knows Dimitri is studying for his microbiology final – the last one of the semester – before he makes his strike. Sylvain shrugs on a cropped sweatshirt, one so short his nipples peak out from under the shortened hem, a pair of tight boxer briefs, and sprawls out on his unmade bed. This time, he skirts past the teasing, already hard in his shorts just from the knowledge that Dimitri is one thin wall away.

“Fuck,” Sylvain hisses when he grips his cock through his briefs, stroking himself until a wet spot grows at the head, dark and obscene against the gray fabric. He doesn’t bother holding back the whine that rips from his throat, a desperate, “ _Dima_ …”

If Dimitri can hear him, he makes no indication. Sylvain can even hear the soft scratch of pen on paper, Dimitri remaining as diligent as ever. Fine by Sylvain – there’s more where that came from. He tugs down the back of his briefs, letting them rest under the curve of his muscled ass, and runs a dry finger between his cheeks, through the soft, downy hair there. “Fuck—Dimitri,” he gasps. “Want your hands on me.”

The room next door goes deathly still.

“Need it,” Sylvain whines, scrambling for his lube, already too turned on from knowing Dimitri can hear him, that he’s _listening_. He pumps lube into his hands and strokes his rim, dipping a fingertip in. “Not big enough, Dima—it’s not enough.”

Sylvain’s keens are coming out unbidden now, as he fucks one finger into himself, slow and steady. He’s not lying when he says it’s not enough—Dimitri’s fingers are so much thicker, his knuckles knobbly and rough and perfect for hitting Sylvain’s prostate, milking him until he’s wet and needy, begging for Dimitri to stretch him out. Sylvain slides in another finger, maybe before he’s ready for it, and whimpers at the stretch of it, dreaming of it being Dimitri’s cock instead, that insistent way he drives inside, railing his hips against Sylvain’s until he’s crying with it—

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain is almost too lost in prying himself apart to hear the three quick, polite knocks on his door. And the small, unmistakable sound of Dimitri’s voice. _Jackpot_. He quickly pulls his briefs up, wiping his fingers on his comforter, and reaches for the door handle, already prepared with his little speech, his rebuffs to Dimitri surely scolding him firmly about making such a ruckus.

What Sylvain _doesn’t_ expect, is the way Dimitri almost lunges at him as soon as the door is open, slamming it so hard behind him that the hinges shake. Dimitri’s hands are hot as brands as he grips Sylvain’s hips, pushing him up against the wall, holding him there, firm.

“ _Fuck_ , okay—shit,” a laugh bubbles out from Sylvain’s stomach, unbidden delight, and his head hits the wall behind him, hard enough to hurt. “I knew you’d break, Dima.”

“Shut up,” Dimitri growls, grinding his hips into Sylvain’s – he’s already hard in his jeans, and the rough drag of denim against his neglected hard-on is already making Sylvain’s head spin. Never mind the way Dimitri bites at the soft curve of his neck, leaving a wake of red spots that will probably purple and bruise by morning. Sylvain has always been so easy to mark up, and Dimitri delights in it.

Sylvain hooks a leg around Dimitri’s, hitching his hips up so he can rut against Dimitri’s thigh. “C’mon Dima,” he whines. “You made me wait so long for you.”

“I said,” Dimitri grunts out, grabbing Sylvain’s jaw with one massive hand, holding his face so he can look him in the eye – a warning. “Quiet.”

 _Fuck_. A whine dies in Sylvain’s throat, and he nods as much as he can with Dimitri’s fingers firm around his face. He’s never seen Dimitri like this, never felt him so firm and strong against him. It feels like Dimitri could take anything he wants from Sylvain like this, fuck him full, put him away wet. Sylvain’s never wanted anything so badly.

“I told you to watch yourself,” Dimitri says, low and warning, and releases Sylvain’s jaw so he can reach around, pulling down Sylvain’s briefs. “You’re so desperate, though. Isn’t there anyone else who can fuck you quiet?”

“Mm— _shit_ ,” Sylvain can’t hold back the groan when Dimitri’s fingers grab his ass, slip through his messy hole. One goes in easy, and Dimitri fucks him with it as he turns his attention to Sylvain’s nipples, kissing one with a wet _smack!_ that makes Sylvain’s face go red.

“No,” Dimitri mumbles against Sylvain’s chest, teeth running against the hard nub, tasting the cool metal. And Sylvain can’t even wrap his mind around what he’s referring to until Dimitri slips another finger into Sylvain’s hole and says, “No one else can satisfy you.”

“Y-Yes,” Sylvain breathes out, chest already heaving from the effort of staying quiet. He’s babbling now, mouth wet with want, so hard in his shorts he feel like he’s going insane. “Only you Dima, promise, only you, want you so bad.”

Now, Dimitri smiles, giving Sylvain’s nipple one last bite for good measure, before kissing a trail up his chest, sucking a red spot in the jut of Sylvain’s chin. And finally, kissing the corner of Sylvain’s open mouth, licking across his bottom lip, tasting the hot desperation there. Sylvain kisses him back feverishly, hooking his arms around Dimitri’s neck, tangling fingers in his hair. They’re not kissing so much as panting into each other’s mouths, tongues sliding against each other in a dirty drag.

“Fuck yourself on my hand,” Dimitri orders, so close to Sylvain that their lips are still brushing, and Sylvain doesn’t even nod before obeying, fucking his hips back against Dimitri’s hand, the two fingers stretching him just enough for the pain to burn into pleasure. He’s caught, completely surrounded – every rut back has his full, every thrust forward has his cock rubbing against Dimitri’s chest, the bulk of him still pressing Sylvain into the wall. It’s like this that Sylvain comes, whimpering wet against Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri swallows all his noises, and fucks him through the orgasm, until Sylvain’s shorts are wet and ruined and his cock starts to hurt from the chafe of it.

“Dima…” Sylvain hiccups out a sob, tears dotting his eyelashes. Dimitri kisses them away, savoring the salt, before finally pulling his fingers out.

“I’ve got you, beloved,” he whispers, so quiet Sylvain might not have heard him if they weren’t chest-to-chest.

Even through bleary eyes, Sylvain can see Dimitri’s smile, the soft look in his eye – and his chest swells with it. More than the satisfaction of a long-delayed orgasm, it’s the satisfaction of finally being close to Dimitri again. _Fuck_ , he really missed this.

“Hey,” he whispers back.

“Hey,” Dimitri repeats, that familiar dopey smile sloping across his face. So different from the rough, mean way he’d handled Sylvain just a few minutes earlier. And still, he’s hard and insistent against Sylvain’s thigh. “I hope you don’t mind, but…”

“Oh,” Sylvain laughs, pushing Dimitri away from the wall and toward his bed. Dimitri’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls back; Sylvain shucks off his briefs and his sweatshirt and climbs into his lap, spread wide around those thick thighs. “Don’t worry. I’m all yours for the night.”

Dimitri runs his hands up Sylvain’s sides, reverent. Sometimes, the way he looks at Sylvain is too much – he’s not used to it, being treated like anything worth having. But sometimes, like now, the look on Dimitri’s face is exactly what he needs – to be _wanted_.

“Good,” Dimitri hums, kissing the space at the middle of Sylvain’s chest. “Because I intend to make up for lost time.”

+

Sylvain doesn’t remember falling asleep. He remembers falling apart.

Dimitri’s hands on him is everything he knew he needed and more; he tugs at the strings until Sylvain unravels and then patiently puts him back together. He lets Sylvain ride him, slow and easy, coming one more time around Dimitri’s fist, before he flips him over effortlessly, railing into him hard enough for Sylvain to see stars. Dimitri is always so diligent about using a condom or pulling out, but when Sylvain moans for him to come inside, he hardly hesitates, gripping Sylvain’s hips like handles, hard enough to bruise, holding himself deep in Sylvain’s guts as he coats his insides, fills him up.

And still, that’s hardly the beginning.

Sylvain is sure he won’t be able to walk the next morning – at least, that’s what he thinks when Dimitri twists him into all sorts of athletic positions, comes inside him for the third time, rubs and twists at his nipples until they’re red and swollen. By the time Sylvain finally falls asleep, he’s a fucked-out mess. He feels better than he has in weeks, maybe months. Maybe _years_.

“Good morning, beloved.”

 _Beloved_. There’s that pet name again, the one Dimitri had whispered to him over and over, growled in his ear, possessive. Sylvain blinks awake and doesn’t bother hiding the shiver that runs down his spine.

“Morning,” he mumbles, leaning back into Dimitri’s chest. “Good job not killing me.”

He feels more than hears the small rumble of Dimitri’s laugh. “That would hardly do me any good.”

“Mm,” Sylvain digs his head into his pillow. Fuck, he feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. And still, he can’t help the small interested twitch of his cock when he feels Dimitri’s hands run over his ass, dip to touch the sensitive, swollen rim of his hole. “D-Don’t…”

“Shh,” Dimitri kisses Sylvain’s shoulder. “You’re still wet with me. Feel it?”

And Sylvain does – can feel Dimitri’s seed heavy in his stomach, can feel it leak out as Dimitri fingers him shallowly. He swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut at the overstimulation of it. “Wh—You didn’t—”

“You wouldn’t let me clean you up,” Dimitri says, rubbing his free hand against Sylvain’s hip. “You said you wanted to be full of me.”

“ _Goddess_ ,” Sylvain breathes out. “W-What kind of slut says that?”

Dimitri huffs out a laugh, and pulls his fingers out, nudging at Sylvain’s shoulder until he turns over, until they’re nose-to-nose. “I might have gone a bit hard on you, I apologize.”

“Dimitri,” Sylvain whines, burying his face in Dimitri’s chest now that he’s been so cruelly wrenched from his pillow. “Are you forgetting how obsessively I tried to get you to rail me this past week?”

“That was,” Dimitri clears his throat, and Sylvain can feel his blush. He knows all these little tics of Dimitri’s by heart now, the way his blush starts at his chest and spreads up his face; the way his fingers get jittery and nervous when they rest at the curve of Sylvain’s hips; the way he has to look away a few times before he can meet Sylvain’s eyes sometimes. “I was not quite honest with you, I think.”

“Oh?” Sylvain pulls back, just enough to look at Dimitri’s face, see the way he’s thoughtfully chewing his bottom lip.

“I should have—what I mean to say it—” Dimitri looks like he’s puzzling out a particularly hard math problem, eyebrows knitted together. “It is true that I find it difficult to focus around you, sometimes,” he says it all in one breath, like he’s afraid the words won’t come out any other way. “But it is only because I care about you so much. And I—I don’t want you to think that I am simply using you, or…” Dimitri trails off helplessly, and Sylvain can feel his hands clenching and unclenching around his waist, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his skin,

Oh, Sylvain has been stupid. So, so stupid.

“Dimitri,” Sylvain gives him a wobbly smile. “You know, I could have found someone else if I just wanted to fuck.”

Something possessive flashes in Dimitri’s eyes—Sylvain feels himself clench involuntarily. “Yes?”

“Ah—but,” Sylvain can feel his ears going hot, and he presses his forehead against Dimitri’s, headbutting him softly. “I didn’t, you know? I only wanted you.”

“Oh.” Just a breath. A small exhale, like a weight’s been lifted from Dimitri’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Sylvain breathes back. And for now, that’s enough. That’s _more_ than enough.

Eventually they’ll get a shower, finally get clean. Sylvain wonders if Dimitri will let him give him a shower blowjob. Or maybe he can fuck his come out of Sylvain’s hole, until he’s clean and soft. Or maybe—

Sylvain watches Dimitri’s eyelid flutter shut, the long blond lashes dusting the top of his high cheekbone. And if he’s being honest – really truly honest – all Sylvain wants is to lounge like this, lazy and safe in Dimitri’s arms.

And it turns out finally admitting that is no problem at all.

+

_Hey fucking idiots,_

_We got hotel rooms for the night. Sylvain I used your credit card. Fucking warn us the next time you decide to spend the night yowling like animals. If you’re not dating by the time I come back I will max this card out buying the stupidest most expensive thing I can think of._

_I hate you both._

_xoxo Felix_


End file.
